


worthless

by kirayukikira



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: ???? - Freeform, HAM/ELIZA IS ONLY BRIEFLY MENTIONED, Hatesex, Humiliation, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Self-Hatred, Slut Shaming, also laurens is only mentioned is passing also, everyone hates themself, ham has the worst humiliation kink, ham thinks he is aro but isn't but hates himself for it ???????, hamilton is the biggest fckin sub ever, hamilton slut shames himself, help me, kinda ????????, oh god so much sin, sin - Freeform, they think the other hates them ???, this is sad y did i do this, this is unbeta'd so 4give me is i make mistakes, wake me up (wake me up inside), what else can i even tag this, what is that called
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5252090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirayukikira/pseuds/kirayukikira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God, Hamilton loved feeling like this, he thought as he felt his jaw go lax, helpless and hopeless at the hands of another. He would never admit it to anyone but himself, but he relished in the way Thomas made him feel, as if he were nothing more than an object of pleasure. He knew it was wrong, knew all of this was wrong, but that didn’t even stop him. How much lower could he sink, he wondered, than to his knees in front of another man?</p>
            </blockquote>





	worthless

**Author's Note:**

> i am so sorry for Sinning i am so sorry my sin got so dark wtf ?? why am i like this

Thomas Jefferson was angry. Hamilton could tell the moment the man stormed into his office, could tell by the way his eyes, usually alight with mirth, seemed to cloud over with a gray shadow, could tell by the way he shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor. As soon as he did this, Hamilton looked up, met his stormy gaze, and set down his pen.

“Bad day, Mr. Vice President?” He asked, preparing himself for whatever harsh comment Jefferson would throw at him this time.

“Hamilton, this isn’t a game,” he growled. “You know what I want.” Hamilton gulped, never taking his eyes from Jefferson’s face, as he rose from his desk and shrugged off his coat, neatly folding it on his desk.

“Of course, sir,” he replied, crossing the small room to kneel at Jefferson’s feet. “It would be my pleasure.”

Hamilton’s hands, practiced and lithe, found themselves tugging on the restraints of Jefferson’s breeches, performing the same action they had time and time before. He watched Jefferson’s face carefully as he undid the man’s trousers, searching for some sign, any sort of reaction, but he just looked up at the ceiling as Hamilton tenderly removed Thomas from his breeches. His eyes stayed upward as Hamilton gingerly held Jefferson’s cock in his hands, as he began to pump up and down Jefferson’s length. There was no thought to Hamilton’s actions, just mindless motions, performed as they had been thousands of times before. And, just as he had those thousands of times before, Hamilton took the tip of Jefferson’s dick into his mouth, felt the man tense up, felt the pace change. Jefferson wound his long fingers through Hamilton’s loose ponytail and pushed the man’s head further onto his dick. Still, Jefferson looked up at the ceiling, even as he pushed Hamilton up against his desk and began to fuck into the younger man’s mouth.

God, Hamilton loved feeling like this, he thought as he felt his jaw go lax, helpless and hopeless at the hands of another. He would never admit it to anyone but himself, but he relished in the way Thomas made him feel, as if he were nothing more than an object of pleasure. He knew it was wrong, knew all of this was wrong, but that didn’t even stop him. How much lower could he sink, he wondered, than to his knees in front of another man? It wasn’t as if Hamilton hadn’t been with other men before, but something about his relationship with Thomas was different, something altogether sinful. 

_Disgusting,_ he thought,  _worthless. What decent man would behave as he was behaving now?_ Hamilton knew his behavior, this shameful behavior, was the kind of thing only whores did.That's what he was, that's how Jefferson made him feel. That's how Jefferson saw him, saw beyond the endless words, the endless writings, the façade of goodness that Hamilton tried so hard to put up. That's why Jefferson never looked down, why Jefferson never took the time to make sure Hamilton was taken care of, was satisfied, why would he? He saw Hamilton as he really was, as disgusting and worthless, as the bastard whoreson he'd fought all his life not to be. 

He let himself be pressed up against the desk, not moving his hands from where they lay resting on his lap, still looking up at Jefferson even as his eyes began to water. The action was thoughtless, really, maybe that's why Hamilton enjoyed it so much, a reprieve from the endless thoughts that seemed to plague him every waking hour, from the endless stream of words that always seemed so intent of escaping the walls of his mind, either through a pen or through his mouth. Maybe it was a relief from that endless urge to talk, to spread whatever Hamilton deemed as gospel, deemed as important. A moment free of Hamilton's own aspirations of success, his desire to, no matter the cost, impress his opinions on his peers, do what he thought was right, even if it meant losing the people he valued the most. Yes, he valued them, never loved, he couldn't say love, because what man in love would have done what he had done, thrown away the best things in his life for whatever shiny trophy lay on the other side of that line he was always so quick to cross. Hamilton knew that was not what love was, that love was what Eliza had done for him, sacrificed herself and her time, love was what Laurens had done, put his life on the line for his nation, love was what Hamilton had seen, yet never felt. If love was wanting to help someone else, if love was self-sacrifice, then Hamilton knew that made him a loveless man. How much more broken could he be, he wondered, that he couldn't even feel the most basic human emotion? 

Hamilton was shaken from his thoughts when Jefferson grunted and gripped the side of the desk. Hamilton could have sworn the man looked down as he came in Hamilton's mouth, if only for a second, before the man tucked himself back into his breeches and moved to leave. Hamilton stayed on his knees, mute, as Jefferson picked his jacket up off the floor and put it back on. 

"Not your best," Jefferson called back at Hamilton as he exited, and Hamilton could almost hear his smirk.

Jefferson left the room in the same manner in which he entered, in a storm, leaving the door swinging wildly behind him, leaving Hamilton on the floor caught up in a whirlwind of his own thoughts, kneeling, and altogether unsatisfied.

**Author's Note:**

> see u in hel(TM)


End file.
